


Lost Logs

by Outside_Context_Problem



Series: The Troll War [13]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Catching up on canon, Multi, Multilinear Story, Stuff unsaid because spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:52:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outside_Context_Problem/pseuds/Outside_Context_Problem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Advanced data retrieval has provided new information. Formatting irregularities found. Multiple-origin data files have been merged.</p><p>Accessing: Commander John Egbert/Temporal Agent Dave Strider/Captain Rose Lalonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Neurological Damage May Result

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three undiscovered plotlines accessed. Display initiating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurring mostly between Progression body and its prologue/epilogue.
> 
> (In other words, obviously, during the time Vriska is still an Imperial commander)

You have twelve different definitions of a bad day, starting with _waking up without your arm_ and topped by _being shot by missiles on your first encounter with an alien species and having to steer your disabled spacecraft into an atmospheric landing_.

A tiny, detached part of your mind is writing up the thirteenth: _being elbows-deep in the nutrition-siphoning gut-tubes of your moirail, splattered in what was, until sixty seconds ago, your second-favorite shade of blue, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you have nothing to stop his internal bleeding._ You're putting it at the top.

"John!!! Impact in twenty!" Lieutenant Leijon hasn't had a chance to look back and freak out. She's been too busy keeping you both alive in the metal storm of what was previously a very large chunk of the _Daniel Inouye_ , by "piloting" the single functional atmospheric engine attached to the still-somewhat-large _intact_ chunk of your home vessel that you're all wedged into.

You alone, in a room full of corpses, are left to try to keep Equius from joining them, with your marginal amount of medical expertise enhanced by the library crammed into a previously-unused portion of your brain. You alone get to hope and pray that everyone's efforts are enough.

You are Commander John Egbert, and yeah, you've definitely had better days.

 

The impact isn't as bad as some you've been through, at least. Nepeta is a _really_ good pilot. Instinctive skills more than equal to yours (you can land a ship. She can land a _part_ of a ship). She doesn't hear the wind like you do, but there is nothing, _nothing_ in this universe that can tell Nepeta Leijon it's time to die and make her listen.

"How is he?!"

She doesn't unstrap so much as _annihilate_ the crash harness, scraps of fabric still in the hissing, cracked cabin air while she races across the deck. She's a blur in action. Especially compared to you.

You just don't have any haste left.

A good chunk of your brain doesn't want to tell her what your field medic upload/training is telling you about Equius. You don't hurt your friends.

But of course, one of those sharp little internal voices is telling you that you're not _friends_ , you're moirails. You share grief, and rage, and frustration. And maybe she'll talk you down.

Or maybe she won't. In the short term you think you're just as happy with either.

"Neurostasis. Barely. Damage mostly to the torso, but brainwaves dropped catastrophically within moments of the injury. What we'll get out of this..." You try really hard not to look at the mechanism of alloys and charged particles, brain-scans and extra-dimensional energy types, that's clamped on your moirail's head. "It won't be him."

"He's dead." Her voice isn't raw, isn't scratchy, furious, or numb. Just blunt.

You're forced to accept it.

LCmEZ-EF/A-CU neutrino burst comm to CmJE-EF/T.  
EZ: =--= Commander, it 100% like we need to have a serious talk.

Or not.

JE: whoever the **fuck** you are, you picked the wrong fucking time to try and hack me!  
JE: i'm not a violent man but i'm going to make you **regret** this.

EZ: =--= I regret a great many things. The re%uirement of this e%planation among them.  
LCmEZ-EF/A-CU broadcast comm.  
EZ: =--= I am coming into view. I imp100re you not to shoot.

Heat Sink 001: 55% capacity +8.6%/second.  
Heat Sink 002: 37% capacity +7.4%/second.  
Heat Sink 003: 29% capacity +6.8%/second.

Your arm exhaust rages across the cabin interior. Stale air with a hint of ozone shifts towards acrid and boiling.

Biological Safety Inhibitor: ON.  
> Override.  
OFF. Neurological damage in 603 seconds.

You could dampen the pain, adjust your adrenal gland's spiking output, pump war chems to stabilize, focus, and aim without the fuss of natural methods.

You don't.

Targeting Priority: Starcraft [Friendly, Interior]  
> Set: Planetside [Hostile]

The glow of null-space field ignition above your wrist paints the cabin in dull purple.

Nepeta's eyes are sharp, but her mouth is silent. Bared, teeth sharp, edge of a snarl. But silent. Verbal cues unnecessary.

 

The silhouetted form is considerably smaller than expected. Barely two meters. But the profile is unmistakable. Especially the cracked horn.

EZ: =--= There really is no e%cuse for not informing you beforehand, Commander.  
EZ: =--= But I tr001y did not e%pect this circumstance to ever arise.

The mechanical replica of your moirail - 1.84 meters, just shorter than you, once you subtract the horns - keeps his hands up, palms flat.

EZ: =--= Remar%able. Is my physical body intact?

 

The first response is the quiet whine of your vents, slowing down as your heat sinks shut off. The field primers wink out. And you lower your arm.

"Yeah, you're fine. Eq! Dude! Tell me when you're going to put your brain in a robot, okay? I need to know this kinda thing as your moirail and also it helps as your commanding officer!"

"I am profusely sorry, Commander. It was unlikely that the interface would function in the first instance - it _was_ designed by Dr. Lalonde - and the probability of my termination within range of the construct-"

"You're not dead!!!" When Nep's angry, she doesn't say things. She forces their reality on you.

"She _is_ right, Eq. Physical damage is minor- uh. Well, no. It's not minor. But it's repairable, and your skull's in a neurostasis rig."

"Then I will be pleased to return to it." The Equiusbot is really well done. Fluid movements (hydraulic/inorganic musculature probably), sturdy exterior plating on par with standard Diomedes armor, no obvious mechanization. Well. Except for the glowing eyes and the silvery-grey alloyed exterior. Give him a fleshy coating, though, and it'd really look like Equius. Tiny Equius. Heh. "Erm. Once we have the proper equipment. And personnel."

"And _time_. We made a hell of a lot of noise coming down - hardly your fault, Nep." Your moirail acknowledges this with a roll of the eyes. Okay that was maybe a pointless thing to say. Whoops! "And given that the _Inouye_ was running before we got thrashed, I think we can assume the Empire controls this system."

"Your kismesis sucks."

You have one of your casual Vriska-induced shrugs ready. But you can't push it out. Instead, you take a deep, rattling breath, and sigh. "How do you do it?"

They exchange glances. Why does it always seem like any time you get confused, it spreads to everyone else? "Do what, Commander?"

"Hate. How do you _keep_ hating without letting the fire cool down, without locking into the frozen determination that she needs to die?"

Equius's cool blue eyes flicker in the dim lighting. The quiet drips and pools.

"I don't have an answer for that, Commander." A beat. "Not yet."

Without another word, you hoist your emergency pack. Abandoning a downed ship (or fragment of one, anyway) isn't exactly routine, but it's sure as hell not unfamiliar any more. This time you're quite a bit more prepared.

"You have a plan," Equiusbot - Eqbo? No, that's terrible - states.

"Do I ever not?" ~~You _never_ have a plan, you're just really good at faking it.~~

Nepeta smiles, close-lipped. Indulgent amusement bounces across her eyes. "So how are we getting back up in the skies?"

"Step one? We start walking."

 

Spatial-temporal ∆, but not many...

D̛̺̜̰̽̊ạ̩̣̿̓̕v̢̟̞̑͗̚ë̞͇̦́̈̓?̙̩̼̋̀̀

youre new

Ḣ̢̳͖̄͗á̲͚͚̂̕v̜͎̏̒͜͝ĭ̧̼̝̒̊ņ̳̬̃͂͠g̯̱̞̽́͌ ̘̹̾̇͠ͅą̧̗͌̅͝n̛̰̮̊́ͅ ̮̝̺̓́̕ẻ̮̘̪̾͝m͔̻̘̓̂̀i̢̛̯̦̒̈s̞͖̫͋̎́š̨̢̬̔͗ȧ̢̡̰̆̉ṟ̦̤͛͊̚ỷ͓̣̭͂̕ ̣̝͕̽͑̕t̡̧̛̳̍̔o͔̞̝̓̽̓ ̹̟̯̄̓̕á̛̭̣̘̆n̞̘̩̔̃̓ ̗̯̝͑̉̚e͖̘̫̿̿͘m̗͚̪̋́͝i̼̩͕͛̏̎s̟̠̼̀̋͋s̜̼͍̾̍̚å̠̪̜̋̈́r̤̪̘̋̇̉ẏ̖̟̠̿͑ ̠̹͔͒̂͐m͖̹̦̀̋͝a̺̭̤͑̾͘y̬͔̳̏̓͝ ͈̬̼̽̓̕b͇͙͇̓̽̒e̛͉͖̗͐̈ ͚͇̰̓̎̾ŗ̱̻́͐̚e͍͍͚̐̍͘d̙̹̖̃́̀ǘ̬̻̗̔͂n̻͙̤̈́͐̆d̛͔̘͔̃̆a̗̳̠̍͑͐ṉ̙̪̽̃̆ṯ̼́̊̀͜,͉͕̪̾̒̕ ̡̮̲̔̑̿b̪͔̮̆̽͊u̺̖̤̔̈́͝t̺̯̩͑̃̓ ̜̣̖͋̉͒ỷ̫̯͓̀̆o̘̯̔͌̚ͅu͈̩̣͑́͘ ̣̪͕̄̌̈́s̫͙̟̍̉̏e̢̤̅́͝ͅè̛̟̪̾ͅm͎̟̟̀̾̑ ̰̻̻̔͐̓t͎̻̲̄̓͋ő̡͈̲̒̕ ̹̠͒̈́͒͜ñ̬͙͈̒͝ẽ͓̱̻̅̽ë̻͎̀̚ͅd̬̠̝̄͋͠ ̩͍͈̂̐͝i̱̲͔͐̓͝t̮̲̯̋̅͛.̙͚͔͊͋̐

you guys understand a dude wanting to keep his skull intact

W̮̼͔̊͌̓è̝͈͎̆͝ ͚͍̳̀̈́͝u̡̦̮͊͛̐ṋ͓̠̇͌͂d̢̻͌͛̊͜e̢̱̞͊̏͒r̡̙͑̔͝ͅs̨̮̠͆͒͠t̰̩̝̄͌̓à͕̙̜͌͛ṇ̗̤̾̿͌ḓ̟̣̉͂͘.̟̪͓̑̉͋ ̘̤̭̊̆͝Ą̧̜̈́̀͠ņ̨̳͐͊̍ḏ̯̻̀̓̑ ̧̖̞̃̌͒ạ̘͓̿̄͠d͍͖͚͒̆͂a̧͉̺̒͌͠p͙̖̫̐̋̀ṯ̬̫̏̄̂.̛̥͚̯̀̎

no kidding  
youre almost human  
so you got a name going on here

R̨̧̹̈́̓̌í̧̤̗̄̋g̛͔̙͈̏͘h̛͇͕͙͆͌t͔̩̖͛̄̈ ̟̣̪̽̈́̕n̺̖̟̽̑̾ọ̢̘̃̒͛w͇̻͙̅̚͝?͈̮͖̽̈́̾  
͙̣̃̀̀ͅ  
̢̢̪̊̏̎  
C̟̭̏̅͝ͅâ̞͚̪̾͋l̮͈̗͊̊̈m̛̖̖͇̚͘a͚̤̎́̽͜s̨͚͕̊̉̚i̫͍̳͊̀́s͚̻̥̐͐̽.̨̣͎́̿̊

pleasure to meet ya

 

Realignment::  
 _Wu Zetian_ , Sol Kuiper belt  
You are astonishingly patient, you believe. You deal with bureaucrats. You deal with the most regressive and reactionary elements of the scientific establishment.

Signless Christ, you even deal with your family. John, Dave, Jade, and even _Zahhak_. 

But you are growing very, very tired of this.

Being under house arrest is quite rapidly boring. Pointless. Unjustified.

After all, it's not as if you _tried_ to kill the President.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stay away from this shit!
> 
> Also Hussie keeps updating. Blame him.


	2. Apply as a Prophylactic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a trinary narrative?? you suck!! every single part of the source material is quaternary, you massive jerk! give me some lines, come oooooon
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Uhm. Sorry. Working on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fukkit, post. Post post post. Badly- or not badly-written porn to come NEXT chapter.

_Wu Zetian_ , Mars orbit  
You're reviewing the energy costs for the XN33 growth cultures (with analog calculations; you're reduced to this, thanks to the EM dampeners in the interrogation cells. How quaint.) when the door opens. You wait a few seconds before reacting.

Interestingly, the gentleman doesn't seem to have taken the delay as the usual patchy behavior of a disconnected neural adept. Cynicism fills hazel eyes in a face that's pretty, though not unblemished - the natural look is back in vogue after years of genetic correction. Not that your kin-clade has ever really had a need for either. He'd still make a good vid protagonist. A little pale for your tastes, but low-melanin minority heroes have their representation (usually with some subplot about being a "racial throwback", as if that's a concept worthy of consideration). His hair is pared down to a short blonde stripe down the center of his head; the Nitram cut, albeit a good thirty centimeters shorter. Quite popular. All this above a precise Earthfleet uniform.

"Captain Lalonde. I hope you're ready to discuss the earlier incident now." He takes seat with practiced care, spins his fingers in a lazy arc to call up an internal-display data file.

"Counselor. I believe you're as out of your depth as my previous interrogators have been. You may wish to leave and return with someone with actual authority. As I told each of them to do."

"I'm not here to interrogate you, Captain. I'm here to inquire."

You incline your head just a fraction. So events have escalated. "You may consider me among those skeptical about the replacement of the adversarial system of law."

"Your hostility towards the Office of Legal Inquisition is noted," he says. Amusement is not evident in his tone or posture, but there is a hint of it visible in his eyes. "Please begin with the purpose of the vessel you crashed into the _Wu Zetian_."

You provide a smile, but no mirth. "That's classified, Counselor."

"Beyond the reach of the law, Captain?"

"Classification R&D 15. Beyond the reach of _anyone_ determined to be a threat with the technology."

He leans forward. Matt Valorin (being inside the Faraday Cage lets you read his ID badge at least) does have an intense stare. "Captain Lalonde, you are possibly the single most threatening individual to Earthfleet alive."

You fold your hands on the table. "Are you ranking me above Her Imperial Condescension, Counselor?"

"In the long run? Yes, The troll monarch is a hostile leader. We know how to deal with those. You are an internal threat, Captain. Your entire clade is."

You smile, and "flip" several internal switches in preparation. "I'm eager to hear you expand on that, Counselor."

"The OLI has enough resources to know who killed President ." He lets that sit.

Is that all? You doubt Dr. English ever really expected to remain an unknown shooter. Your family aren't the kind of people to kill enough witnesses to remain perfectly anonymous. Which sometimes seems like a pity.

You smile politely at the lawyer. "Did you know the Alternian Empire also employs an inquisitorial justice system, Counselor? I'm so pleased our peoples can find something in common in the middle of an ideological war."

Matt leans back into his chair. "I didn't come here convinced of your guilt, Captain Lalonde. You're dangerous. But that's not always a bad thing. Sometimes dangerous people are the most vital people to have. It just means you need someone to keep an eye on you."

"I have quite a few of those people, Counselor."

"Yes. Your relatives. Although I believe the vast majority of the eyes watching you are not in human or troll heads."

"How astute. You've read my papers, I assume."

He narrows his gaze. Those vid-star eyes are made for soulful gazes, not warning glares, but he gives it his best. "Your Classified R&D 15 notes. There's only so much you can keep to yourself, Captain."

"I never intended to hoard it all, Matt. You can't call an experiment science until it's been independently replicated." You relax your mask, or put a new one on - Dave would never let you live it down if he learned you, yourself, are not quite sure how much of what you present to the world is your real personality. "Are you concerned about the Horrorterrors?"

"No." He spreads his hands and smiles - as cliché an expression of openness that you can imagine, but that is the nature of shared human tradition. "The OLI will leave other dimensions to departments with jurisdiction there. We're concerned about the _law_ , Rose. And if there is one adage we can borrow from Alternian experience to confirm, it is that power corrupts. And absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Well, you grew up with John Egbert. If anyone can handle a barrage of truisms, it's you. "I really don't have time to banter, Matt. There are experiments gaining sentience while I'm waiting here. Are you accusing me and my family of conspiracy?"

"I'm warning you, Rose, that you're starting to look a lot like one. The Human Transitional Agency-"

"-is a joke, Matt. Really. A secret authority dedicated to tweaking the flow of civilization? We're a recreational club for entertainment purposes only. I thought ironic appreciation was "in" this century."

He spreads his fingers again. You could measure the microns of movement, plot his precise motions against possible control software, and work out exactly what he's doing. But it's pointless when you've already guessed with basic psychological analysis. "Recording's off," he says, confirming. "You're not being charged with any criminal activity, Captain Lalonde. The President harbors no suspicions that an upstanding officer like yourself would intentionally try to assassinate her, and merely wishes you'd be a bit more careful with the risks of your experiments, which have been invaluable to Earthfleet."

Counselor Valorin stands up. "Please keep it that way."

You don't send a message _immediately_ once you're out of the Faraday Cage, of course. Even with your encryption that might be a bit rude. You wait a few hours.

Rose Lalonde private communication to Dirk Strider/Dirk Strider (AR) and assigned OLI monitors  
RL: Well, that was a rousing success.  
AR: Jegus rose you gotta blind a guy with Full Sarcasm Assault Mode the first thing you say  
DS: Seriously, shut up, AR. What are the complications, Dr.?  
RL: "Doctor", is it? How flattering. Dad.  
AR: Dirty pool. You know he hates feeling old rose.  
RL: You're both close to a hundred, I am confident that one of these days you will master maturity. Possibly to spite one another.  
RL: So, the primary jump was thirty AU off-course, the prototype committed suicide after disconnection, the pilot was knocked unconscious by the disconnect, the vessel nearly killed the President, and the Office of Legal Inquisition is concerned that our family is a criminal conspiracy to control the government.  
DS: Somehow, I don't see your conclusion being the sensible result of these facts.  
RL: The Helmsman Project just needs a little work, Dirk.  
AR: Have we considered maybe not having you be the one with the biotech interface jammed into your spine  
RL: No. And we will continue to not consider that until some miraculously better test pilot appears.  
DS: It's against my entire belief system to hope for miracles, Rose. I'm still going to.  
RL: Have I mentioned how inspiring the sheer immutability of your support is, Dirk? Really. Really, it is.  
RL: Engaging jump. I'll get back to you once I'm at the Island of Dr. Moreau again.  
Rose Lalonde has disconnected.  
AR: ...  
AR: How come she gets to name everything

 

Coterminous, but not Coexistent

T̨̠̯̠́͆̐͝ḥ̤̬͗̽͘͝ͅe̦̯̗̋̈͐̆͜r̰̠̯̝͐͛́͊ĕ̬̼͉͙̇̃̉ ̗̜̭͓̋͗̍͝a̯͍̞̘͂͐̊̋r̢̙̰̰͌̔̏͠e̘͖̰͇̊͌͂́ ̝̩̱̱́͗̉̾l̛̼͓̲̅͗̄͜ȉ̞͕̼̼̈́̋̑m̡̻̦̲͐̓̀͝i̘̤̠͕̐̏̓͂t̤̥̳̞̽̐̇̕ś̭͔͚̓͒̂ͅ ̮͚̞̖̿̆̾̕t̯̮͉́͌̾̑͜ö̗̦͉̮́̾̔̏ ̛̲̺͉͎͒̕͝w̬̤̗̠͂̄̆̃ḫ̡̳̭̄̃͑͠ḁ̮̲̟̉̒́͒t̜̠̪̠̊̅̂̽ ̮̣̳͕͂̀͊͠ǎ̰̮̦̱́́̀n̡̢̻̫̉̌̈́̿y͖̮̞̣͐̈́̈͝ơ̘̥̭͋͘̚͜n͎̩̣̫̓̉̊̀e̹̗̺̫͋̽̋̒ ̩̤̥̤̈͑̍̕i̡̹̱̩̓̃́͘s̮̻̻̽͑́͆͜ ̧̧̫̘̏̎̑͝c͎͕̰͇̀͌͒̑a̜̱̮̪̿̍̈̒p̗͚͓̜͂͑͘͝à̭̤̬͓̒̔͠b̳̭͇͒͋͜͠͝ĺ͓̤̠͖̉͗͆ė̼̬͉̄̾̚ͅ ̬̖̝̿͑̆̆ͅǒ͓̮͈͍̆͆͠f̬̤͕͚̃̆̄͛,̠̝̟̞̂̈̀͋ ̢͈̤̀̀̈́͜͝D̡̠̖̤͋̓̍͝á̧͍̩͉̿̋̌v̭̳̹͎̿̓̐͐ê̡̜̹̣͂͂͝.̛̝͔͕̰̒̔͋ ̛̭͙͖̯͑͝͠E͕̪̲̗͐͒̀͑v̻͖͍͓̌͛̐͠è̝̣̙̰̅͆͝ņ̼̪̱̽̎̑̚ ̢̟̙͎́̆͑̅ÿ̺̠̪͎̈́̿̀ờ͔̱̟͇̓͒ų̺̥̱̾̈̃̉.̳̮̹́̂̈́̚ͅ

yeah probably

Y̢̫͖͕̋̈́͊͑o̫̙͕̔͒͆͌͜ư͉̦̞͗͂̒͜ ͍͍̪͓̂̂͑̚d̞̟̳͛͛̅̀͜ơ̢̡̞͖͑̔̈́ ̦̜͇̻̈̉̈́͛n̫̘̳͕̾͑͂͝o̤̙͇̪̽̿̋̕ţ̜̩͚̀̓̂͝ ͖̯͎̯͋́̈̍w̰͈̠̼̐͋̽͝ã̡̯̬͈͂͑̕n̰̱͕͎̈̃͛̊ṯ̯̞̫͛͆̈́̇ ̨̘̦͓̒͐͐̐ṫ͙̟̟͕̇̂͘o̡̢͚̤͊̽̾͘ ̙͖̹̫̏̈͂̿d͉̠͉͍̽̀̅̃ǫ̪͇̇̀͌̿͜ ̨̜̰̫́͒͌̌ṫ̢̜̟̝̓͗̊ḫ̪͈͈̍̍̊̕į̫̺̹͗̄̓̅s͓̫̲̼̿̂̽̉,̲̭̠͛͋͐̓ͅ ̤͍͈̖̾̕̚͝Ḑ̠̮̗̐͛̅̀a̢̯͕̹͊̿̓̿v̨̝̂̑͐̕͜͜e̛̬͓̩̹̍̍̕.̧̛̼̬̩̊̂̕

why

Y̧̬̪̲͊̀̀̔o͍̺̯̿̐̈͐͜u͎͕̼̫̒͛͆͝ ̢̱̼̐̎̊̚͜ą̧̛͍̮̉̈̾r̨̩̯̩͒̔̉̈e̩͓̠̩̓́̄̄n̥͙̭͙̍̈͂̈'̧̝̣͉̐͋̄̕t̥̞̘̋̊͋̎ͅ ̩̤͔̞̔̽͝͝s͉̪͚͔͋̓͐̎û͓̘̤̞͂̈̈́į̥̭̣́̽̀͠ẗ̬̫̹͎́͊͌͘e̙̠͇̽̔̓͜͠d̮͚̼̥̿́̂̈ ͔͙̣̬̿́̍̄t͙͇̞́̂̈͛͜ợ̛̟̝̗̀̍ ͇̟̼̳̎͌̀͠t͈͕̰̙̽̉͋̉h͓̦̭̤̀̽̿̆ḯ̢̨̱̦͌͐͠s̹̘̠̮̉͊́́ ̱̰̬̙̔̌̕͠r͉̱̰̥̐͒̍͘ẽ̤̳̯̖͊̓͂a̧̯̲̥̓̏̄̇ḻ̞̼̇̑̇͘ͅm̧͇̺͚̈̊̈͠.̢̜̗̼̈́̆̚͠ ͔̻̰̗͑̏͋̿Y͙̪̪̓̍̉̐͜ȏ̭̪͍̬̑͗̄ư̡͎͔̯̍̈̽ ̠͚̟̱̀̽̓̓a̪̻̜͋͂͑͠ͅr͕͙̗̳͑͊̒͝e̬̦̝͕͑͒̆͝ ̞̖͇̟̀̈̅͝h̞̯̬̓̋̓̚ͅủ̡̹̹̯́̍͝m̧̢͇̟͐̊͐͑a̞͖̱̙̅̓̑͝n̡̛̛̲͙̬͆̃.͓̰͖͖͗͆͒̚

i wouldnt be so certain

going native aint what my question was about anyway

your reality is nonlinear and coterminous to ours along any temporal axis

(still not the question)

i hear the whispers the echoes the other conversations

so why (theres the question) do i never see another me

Ì̝̜͙̳̈́̇͠ẗ̡̜̮̪͗̾͠ ͕͓̮͕̉̎͝͝w̘̰̹͈̓̍̈͂ő̡̤̥͎̓̽̚ų̟͙̽͆̀͘ͅl͇͓͎̓̃́͘ͅḋ͉͖̯͎̑̈̔ ̛̥̫̩̀̋̑͜ḇ͉̞̼͌̏͗͘e̝͇͓̋̏̚͜͝ ̧̥͈͙͊̾̔́a̢͙̎͋̉̾͜ͅ ͚̭̻̱̈́̀̈́͆v̬͖̳͋̓͌͝ͅḙ̢̻̥̄͐̌̆r̢̥̣͉̒͛̔̐ÿ̩̤̠̣́̍̅͘,̣̦̘̯͊̂́͠ ̨̛̻̬̮̽́͝v̜͚̝̣̆̌̅̃e̟͔͕̦͊̆̈̕r̡̢̘̙̈́̽͐́y̮̜̮̺̑̃̎̚ ̧̝̣͓͐̃̈͝d̗̜̘͖̐̓͐̚a̻̥͉͍̽̈̄̑n̛͙̝̤̞̒͛̔g̤̦̦̞̈̾͆̅ḙ̪̜͚́̆͋͋r̨̖̭͈̽͊̃̊ǫ̬̮̈́̐̾͊͜u̺̞̦̮͋͌̀̑s̼͖͈̹̈́̊̈̉ ̛̯̮͙̐̂͆ͅt͚͎̰̫͋̈́̆͊ḣ͇͔̙̐̊̓͜i̙̲̻̳̓͆̒͂n̺͕̝̰̎̉̑́g̨̥̲̣͗͗̓̑ ̧̛͉̮̩́̾͆f̨̙̫͋͌̌͑͜o̖̣̱͚͗̔͒͝r̤̝̥̬̾͊́̕ ̲͔͙̼̓̊͋̎y͔̯̰͈̓̒͌̿ö̞̣̫͕́̓̿̾u̮̞͍͈͒̀͂̊ ̢̞͚̍̿̾͌ͅt̢̳͇̼̎̎̚͝ȯ̺͓͈̰́̍͘ ͍̝͎̯͊͋́̎ḑ̹̬̩̽̍̃̕o̹͈͎̠̒́̍̈́.͔̫̝̖͋͗͗͌ ͇͙͈̲͒͑͂̽R͖̱̗̜͋̓͐̕e͉̩̘͍̎̉͠͝ç͉͙̬̃̒̓͛k̢͉͙̫̈̒̌̀l̢̖͕͓̏̈̔̕e͔͔̭̓̉̇͜͠s̛̬̭̜̤̔̍͗s̻̞̝͓̃̒̒͠ ̧̢̟̯͂̈́̊͘a̧͉̤͈̐͒͒̕n͎̰͚͙͂̾̕̚d̝̹͖͖̈́̀͊̊ ̡̤͔̙̎̾̂̕m̳̖͎̰̽̑̓̇a̗͕̭̫̍̓͑̑ḑ̹̺̼̔̂͐͠ ͔̙̹͙̔̑͠͝w̫̤̺̜̎̒̍͘i͍̩͕̜̾͋͊̚t̹̙̣̼͌̽̏̊h̲̞̭̜̀̔̓̈́ ̨̬͔̮͛̃͗͝ǹ̻̯̗͛̈́̂ͅỏ̠̰̫̜̓̚͠ ͕̞̥̐́̀̄ͅp̱̺̤͙̔͂̋̃a̢̧̢̛̛͓̔̍ŗ̧̘̖̓̋͒̕ť̲̤̬̫̈̊͌i͉̭͙̳̍̿́̚c̢͇͖͙̆̇͒̋u̼̖̲͎̒̽̈̒l̯͉̭̰̊͆͗͝a̡̗̦̬͊̈́͌͊ŗ̫͉͈͊͒̾͗ ̝̺̤̰̾̈́͗̿r̳̟͖̫̈́̌̆͑ĕ̝̻͉͓̓͗̆ṯ̪̟̼̿̏̚͝u̪̥͖̽͊́̈͜r̡̫͉̬̈́̈́̎͝n̘̜̗̖̔͒́̎.̨̰̮̬̃̒̋͘

 

 

I̡̢̲̩̪̤̯͉̎̽̀̑̋̿̒͝'̨̟̭̙̣̗͖͖̾̽̀̈̌̎̀̂m̻̝͖͙̗̺͒̆̊̂͐̏̒̆͜ͅ ̳̙͓͎͎͙͎̬̈́͆̿̌̀̐̂̕ò̡̧̤͔̗̠̳͈͂̋̔̾̿̾̓ņ̢͖̝̞̣̮̣̀̌̎́́̚͝͝l͕̦̘̼͇̜͔̠͆͆̒̽̓̐͌̚y̢̱̺͍̝̻͇̔͆̄̀̊͗͌͛ͅ ̛͚̠̺̪̯̟̗̦̈́́͐͗̚̚͝f̣̫̺͔̙͈͙̺͛̈̔̅͆̊̽̈́ư̥̺̹̯̪̬̦͉̒̊̆͆̍͐̚ȑ̹̦̹͙̦̝̪̈́̋͑̉̅̈́́ͅt̙̠̖͚̦̠̺͎̆̆͆̊̆̾̕͘h̨̯͇̖͚̰̤̩̔̅̓̊́̐̊̚è̫̫̻͔̠̺̮̃͊̊͊͋̂͝ͅr͙̝̘̬̪͎̼͛̉͌͆̉͆̔̚͜ ̼̖̱̤͔̼͓̌͊̀̽͗͘͠͝ͅc̩̗͔̣̯̘̫̔̉͂̐̓̎̂̅ͅo̙̼̻̫̥̰̬̦̾̉̔́͘͘̚͝ņ̯̙̳͚̮̝̐̇̋̇̽̚͜͝͝v̞̬̠̲̗̼͎͍̂̎͊̾̈́̀͛̕į̬̼͉̞̲̺̫̐̾̍̐͋̅̌͝n̨̧͎̮̥̬̭̭̄̈͗̓͌̌̽̏c͙͍̰͖͈̩͍͕̃̊̓̀͆̅̄̊į̛̛̼̜̼̪̩͔̱̅̈́̊̎͗̍ņ̥̫̟̲̖̠͖͛̄̈́̋̅̈͠͝g̨͓͎̦̣̤͓̯͆̓͛̈̂̏̐̏ ̡̩͎̲͔̝̬̔̋̈͆͊̈́͆́͜y̡̢͇͕̜̙͇̳̅̍͋͑͂̋̌̕o̖̟̠̭̱̰̒̓̽͐̊̽͌̀͜ͅú̬͉̟̤̮̳̟̆̌̒̊́̈́͗ͅ ̝͚̠̱̣͚̬̟̐̆̀̌̂̊̉͋t̨̧̰̯̹̮̫͇̀̓͒̓̅̎́͠h͕̤͔̝̻̘͈̲̽̎̀̔̿̏͐͠ä̳̗̺̩̟͚͖̝̈̈̀͂̕̕̕ţ͕̪̹̮͎̱̜̾̈͐̍̓͊̽̌ ̢̲͔͓͇̪̬̟̾̽́̾͊̆̀̽y̞̠̱̭͓̦͓̜͌͊̀͐̌̄̚̚o͙̭͕͇̤͍̠͌̃͐̋̾̋̊̿ͅu̜̰̮̦̪͍̣͊̽̏͆͗̃͑̕ͅ ̨̨͚̞̭͚̹̰͐͑̒̂̾͋̚͝s̭͍̪̯̥̬̱̓̔͐̿́̏̈́͝ͅh̺̰͖̲̤̭̖̾̒̾͋̌̇͗̓͜ơ͇͚͇̠̯̤̤̜̑̊̌̍̍͂͂u̢̺̻̣̹͖̜̹̅͐̐̈́̑́͆̕l̨͎̙̱̜̱͇̝̈́̓͛͋͊̊͗͊d̛̙̟̼̥͖̪̱͓̂̈́͂͊̔͂ ̛̛̛̖͓̤̭̞͖̻̦̒̑͋̈́̈k̪͓̩͍̮͔̦͈̑̒͋̃̍̾̂̚e̢̯̮̼̗̻͔̓̈́̅̈́̈́̅̈̎͜è̝͈̳̯̗̙̝̙̓̑͌̕͝͝͝p̡̛͍̭̫̳͙͉̦͊̓́̓͋̓͘ ̨̛͉̬͉̰̟̄́̀̃̀́́ͅͅt͖̞͚̳͖͓̮͛̐̈̆̄̂̄̚͜r̢̝͉̰̰͈̲̲̈́͊̅̅͐̃̚͝ỹ̫̹̘͙̟̲̰̹̿̓̍͊̌̓͘i̧̛̼̥̱̯̘̯̗̎̈́͑̃͌͂̑n̤̭̗͖͚̱̪͎̒̓̓̏̂̃͊̐g̨͍͓̙͇͕̪̗̔̃̂̏̈́̄̈́͝ ̥͓̼͓̜͚̙͔̔̈́͆͌͋̌͠͝t̢̩̳̦͓̪̻̓̀͊̒̀̇͊̕ͅơ̱̖̰͖̺̺̜̝̈́͐̍̓͒̓̅ ̡̡̪͉̣͈͇̣̿̓̌̑͒̾͂̏b̧̩͉̭̯͎̹̖̽̊͐͊̐̀̾̀r̭̗͕̘̱̤̬̥̆͋̈͂̑̃̆͝ȇ̻̥̦̮̙̹̽̅̀̿̔̚͜͠ͅą͇̬̠͕͍̜̼̀̈́̓̓̂͌̚͠k͚͉̞͎̘͎̘͔̈́͗̆̊̂̅͘͝ ̛̛̭̱̙̮̜̼͚̜́́́͛̈́͝t̨̞̟͍̻̻̹͉̏̊̒͑̊̍̕͠h̛̹͚̗̥͖̠͇͍̎̈́͌̚̕͘͝r̢̛̘͇̜̦̪͎͑̾̃̆̌̒̓ͅo̦̪̘͙̲̘̪͉͗̓̃́̐͂̿̚u̘̹̙͍͍̰̞͓̒͑̂́̐̀̕͠g̜͈̣̣͉͓͚̼̅̈̀͊͑̊̉̾h̗̱̮̰̻͓̤͂̀͌͗̍͛̈́́͜,̖͚̩͉͚̠̥̎̊̓̽̽̎͘͜͝ ̬̮̞͓͍̩̘͋̎̏̇̄̄̾̿͜ả̡̛̠̹̝̺̳͔̞͌̌̐̾́͝r̨̨͍͈̣̰̲͊̍̎̈́͗̒̔͜͠ẽ̱̪͖̞̥͔̤̔̔͐̈́̇̔͘͜ǹ̨̧̫̙̳̦̗̳̉̐̔͛͛́̚'̡̧̛͕̯͖̳͖̞̊̀̍̉̉̿͝ţ̛̝͚̺͙̟͖͖͋̌̉͊̾̌͛ ̢͕̦̪̖͕̲̎͋͋̐̍͐͒̔͜I̡͔̻͓̠̝̳͍͒̋̔̂̀͆̋͘?̧̺͍̮̣͎̱̄̽̍̋͒̃͘͝ͅ

 

got it in one

...

did i just get a dejected sigh out of the goddamn emissary of the horrorterrors

Y͚̰̻̬̓́̎̆ò̡͈͙͚̄̚͝ȕ̩͓̹̟͆̌͘'͓̣̗̊́̒̚͜r̠̖̹̦̒̐̏͠e̥̗̖̻͆̀̾̽ ̡̩̠̘̒̃̕̕n̥̰̳̈́̅̎͂ͅȯ̼̦̰̠̒͒͝t̮̟͓̓̂͌̇ͅ ͈͍̝͖͌̀̎͝v̥͖̪̹͆̂̀͝ē̦͉͚̊̅͂ͅr̡̥͉̹̍̋̋̄y͓̩͓̔̌̅͜͠ ̩̟̝̺̍̇̈́̒e͎͈̥̦̾̅̽̆ạ͇͖̀̂̓̔͜s̡̰̯͙̈̀́͠y̯̥̣̥͐͌͒͠ ̝̟̯̂̊̑̌͜t̩̯̪̥͒́̌͠ȱ̙͔͖̪͂͘ ̢͍̮̟̒͐̉̀d̨̻̦̦̆͋̋͝e͍̺̗̤͛̇͂͌à͚̞̯̅̐͜͠l̛͖̯͈̯̎͛͝ ͚͈̟̍͌̀̕ͅw̡̦̼͎͂͗̑̓ḯ͕̻̼̦̍̒͑t̡̢̛̼̭̾̍͐ḣ̡̤͈͎̍̍̕,͍̼̣̙̓̈̾̚ ͈͚̪̬̿̊̋͘D̢̮͎̳͂͗̒̈́a̝͖̙̩̿͂̏̆v̜̯̖̀͊̑͝ͅę͔̭͕̈̈̌̒.͓̼̭̺̏̾̉̀

 

t̺̄e͍̓l̖̎l̻͘ ̲͑m̟͠ẽ̟ ͙͝a͎̅b̩̌ỏ͎ư̬t͉͐ ̱̾ị͊t̅͜

 

holy shit

ý̱ǒ̱u͙̾r̘͝ ̭̀e̻͝y̤͑e̬̚s̢̎ ͎̏a̩͛ŗ̊ȅ̘n̨͗t̏ͅ ̲̓g̨̎o̰͐i̭̕n̺͌g̡̐ ̩͘ṫ̩o͙͘ ̆͜e̙͐x̙̿p̡̔ḻ͑o̤̔d̟̉ė̢ ͇̈i̺͗f͍̅ ̦̄y̝̏ȯ̠ų͘ ͇͝k͎̈́ȅ̙e̩̎p̪͘ ͇́š̮t̛̝ä̻ř͇ḭ̎n͖̂ĝ̥ ̿͜j̆͜u̯̒n̼̑i̭̚o̊ͅŕ̞

t̜̚h̠͝e͈͠ẙ̺ ͚͊w̬̓í̮l͚̈́l͕̐ ̰͂t̬͛ṷ͋r̢̀n̙̉ ̛͉i̖̓n̫͐ţ̊o̗͊ ̤̍ș̈́ǒ̭m̹̎e̩͝ţ̄h̼͠i͓͐n̢̉g̛̼ ̣͊t̪̃h̥͘ḁ̀t̑ͅ ̗̿s̥̄u̞͠r̨̛ě̯ ̹̕a̱̎ş͌ ̱̐s̲̋ǐ͇n͐ͅ ̤̂a̪̓ỉ͙n̼͑t͖̽ ̲̿e̪̒y̾ͅe͓͐b̪̏a̭͌l̑ͅľ̬s̙̈́ ̲̐t̖̿h̠͗ò̰u̝͌g͔̿h̗̚ ̯͆š͇ǒ̟ ͓̚l̲͌e̠͌ț̀s͖͌ ͉̈́k͋͜e̲̋e͚̓p̤̐ ͕͐t̲̀ȟ͚î̪s̲̾ ̪̊s̼͋h̰͒o̰͒r͔̐t̀ͅ

how do we win what do i have to do

ả̡̙̙̩̟̽̆̈́̚n̠̤̥̳̱̉̐̃̿͘ḏ̱͕̮̖̇̇͗̌̀

okay and why the FUCK are you my head on a fucking

...giraffapede?

į͇̩͎̥͗̔͗̄̏m̠̠͎̲͉̾̀͛̚̚ ̛̞̤͖̙̽̆͐͌͜ä̡͙̝̹̟̓̎͘͝ņ̮̞͎̫̽͊̇̋̕ à̵̧͇͕̮̟̒̀́̇l̶̢͍̪͕̰̈́̒̽̔̅l̸̬̰̪͖̹̍̓͂̀̕e̵͚̪̟̦̭͒̽͠͠͠g̶͍̩̣̤͛̏͌͑͝ͅǒ̸̧̻̣̳̖̇̍̐͋r̴̨̫͇̘̯̒̒̏̄̇y̵̛̛̫̗͔͉̙̋̈̃

 

b̙̳̖̺̀̒́̓̚͜l̡̧̖͓̟̽͛̀͑̂ạ̙͔̺͇͑̚͘̚͝ṁ̧̥͕͎̰͐͂̏́ę̳̘̠̲̉̐̑̚͝ ͈̬̖̩̝͗̃́̔̌j͉͖̹̤̹́̔̑̂̕o̧̡̧͔̟͒̋̈́͊̅ḧ̝̳͇̤̥́̐͑͠͝n̼̳̯̹̲̐͐͆͆͐

 

(always do)

 

w̡̡̞͙̬̋̿͗͋͐h̰̞̱̯̟̐̄̀̅͠y̮̼̪̥͗̊̈̓͜͝ ̳̥̖͍̳́͗̉̈́̕t̠̫͚͓̤͌́͂̔̚ḩ̜̰̜̭̌͑̂̈͒e͚͙̥͔̙͛͌̈̌̈́ ̞̖̰̮̫̃́͌̐͆f̠̮̼̠̙͐͆̉́͝u̧͓̦͍̫̓́̈́͊̍c̨̖̹̟͂̒͂̿͜͠k̺̜͇̳̂̐̓̋̔ͅ ̡̢̰̣͕͂͗͛͐͐ḫ̨̻̠̟̾̂͛͂̒è̼̬̼͓̮͒͊͛̕ ̧͓͔̺͛̈́͌͒͒ͅḑ̦̰̯̟̑̓͗̐͝ḛ̬̳̼͎͊̂̚̚͝c̡̟̗̗̜̆̈́̋́̅i̛̺͉͈͈͆̆́͜͠d̺̣̙̺̗͆̂̋̉̃e̩̞̞̱͇͗̊̂̉̚d͚̘͎͖͑͋͑̆̈́ͅ ̬̘͚̖̖̄͆͋̒͝ẃ̡̱̪͙̐́̃̒͜ę̛̩͉̈́́̋͘͜ͅ ͖͎̰̭̍̓͗̈͘͜s̡͕̝͚̠͗͛̃̎͝ĥ̢̛̖̣̞̊̒͘ͅó̹͙̺̻̉̌͐̆͜u̡͖̗̝̤͛͗͛̾͘ļ̲͉̹͍̄̓́̔͒d̩͙̙͈͙̉̽͆͛̕ r̵̢̹͖̲̲̘̪͕̯̫̐̇̐̽̓̚͘͘͝͝ê̵̘̝̖̩̙͔͇̺͕͓͛̈́̈́́̎͆̏͛́e̶̢̞̭̻͇̖͍͔̋̃̇͒̍̈̊̕͜͠͝ͅn̷̨̛̝̙̮̻̗̫̻̦͇͂̾͋̾͋̅͒̅̌á̸̛̛͖̜͍̣͉͈͕̱̲̦̑̾̊͒̿̊̈c̴̡̰̙̙̺͍̪͍͉̔͌͑̐̀͐̉̈́̚̚ͅt̸̯̣̪̗͙̲̼͍̏͐͆̎̿̑̍̑̏̔͜͜ ̵̖̥̭͔̺̮̱̰̖̫͊̇̍̌̍̈̅̀̈͠s̵̡̛̭̪̤͓̪͔͙̞̑̆̄̄̾́͌̀͜͝e̷̡̡̯͓̯̞̼̼̮̍̐̋͑̿̔͐̊͘͝ͅx̴͎̭̤̟̥̳̫͙̻͎̃̈̿̒̍͑̏̆̈́̈́ ̵͙͖͍̯̣̺̦̪̝̳̉̏̓͛̉̚͘͘͘͝j̸̢̝͉̥͉̙͇͈̪̋̄̀͆͋̓͐̇̓̕ͅọ̴̢̢̨̻͕͍̹̘̮͋̈́̃̒̽̍̄̾̉̐k̶̨̡̦͈̫̞̤̞̟̉̒̏͑̑̇̃̍͘͝ͅe̸̡̜̥͈͚̺̜̱͕͛̈́̆̌͂́̀͛͝͝ͅ ̸̡͖͓̩̤̭̲͍̮̄͋͌̒̀̎͒̇̕͝ͅm̶̧͓̯͇͉̦̭̞̮͕̃̑̅̄̓͂̌̉͋̚y̵̛̛̫̯̩͉̞̝̮̠̺̮̾̊͑̔̅̂̈́͋t̴͍̺̯̭̟͇͚͖́́͐͆̑̋̓̈͜͠͠ͅh̷̨̨͖̯̻̱͇̬̱͍̔̄͂̆̓͝͝͠͝͝ǒ̸̧̡̰͚̠̤̼̦̼̯̀͋̿͋͆͋̊̌͝l̶̛̬̻̙̤̹̻̥̖̱̊̐̓͆̂͌͋͛̕ͅō̷̧̼͎̮̳̘̯̲̝̋͒̓͗̑͆̀͘͝ͅg̵̢̥̼͓̦͍͎̠͇̮͛͒̍̃̏̅̈́͘̚͠į̷̛͎̙̘̼̤̱̼͖͓͒̔̓͗̾̌̆͝͝c̸̨̢͖̩͎̬͓͈̟̻͆͂͊̀͂́̿͌̀͝á̵̛̜̥͔͙͙͈̥̖̖̲̔̏̎̈́̾̾̈́͠ĺ̶̨̠͖̥̮̼̦̬̹̐͂͋̇̀͂̽̈́͑ͅ ̸̢̧̯̤̣̟͔̦͖̰́͗̈́͛͛̊̊̍̚͝t̸͔̙̲̩̮̲̹̙͕́̃̐̇̐̋̓̑͛̈́ͅà̴̢̡̤̪̗̙͈̲̩̩̒̓̀̽̾̒̚͝͠l̶̢̫̗͈͉̪͎̜̮̣͋͂́̔͒́̏̇̑̈́e̸̢̲͚͚͍̦͎̼̪̯̐̄̎̋̓̐̄͛̏͝s̷̨͍͈͚̺͈̥͎̬͔̒̏̒͐̃͒͆̄̋͝ ̡͓̥͉̬̑̀̋̚͘ï̧̨͙̰̼̐̆̾͝ ̢̝͈̯̈́̂̔̒͛͜c̝̹̫̳̿́͒̾̏ͅa̯̠̬̦̦̒̈̐̓͝n̙̦͙̖̺͊̈̄͛͌t̛̛̪̜̻̜͍̒͐͝ ̲͉̳̲͎͐͗̈́̉̈́f͕͎̹͈̻̾͐̈́̐̐ụ̡̡̙̰̔̈́̀̄̊c̦̝̞͕̓̒͆̕͜͠k͚̪͔̻͖̈̓́́͝į̟̺̺͓́̆͆̌͠n̛̤̥̗̪͕̔̒̌̒g̡͖̲̱̪̉̈́́̃͠ ̪̦̣͍͖͌̽̈́̉̾i̡̨̟̣̣͆͂̊͊̚ḿ͔͉̰̘̬̔̽͂͘ả̯̻̻͎͖̈́̉̎̕g̨̻̳̫̫͛̅͑͂́ì̛̲͙̻̰̦̉̌͛n̨͕͔̝͙̓̉̄͗͝é̢̥͓̞̹͋͛̚͝

 

i̩̻͛͆t̝̽́ͅs͚͔̾͑ ̢́̄͜i̦̒͐ͅŕ̬̞̚r̩̻̾͂é̲̩́l̖̹̉̍e̮̯̔̎v͔̱̅̚ạ̳̈́͝ń̢͎͑t̢͔̒͛

yeah hurry the fuck up i dont got all infinity

ő͙̮̈́k̡̞͑͋ą͙̊́y̨͖̌͝ ̦̗̓̈f̣͆̕͜ṵ̢̒̈c̥̙̆̚k̙͉̎̇ ͇̺̽̆i͍̲͂̏t̟̽͜͝ ̢̨̄̏i̘̠̒͠ ̗͍̋̚w̧̨͊̎a̺̬̽̈ṡ̝̲̈́ ̖̠̾͘g͕̮̉̍o̠͈͋̕n̬͍̉͘ṇ͖͊̕ä̖̭́͗ ̟̭́͝w͍͕̐̎á͚̫̍r̺̞̿͘ṋ̻̓̏ ̜̟͐̄ẏ̱̪̍ő̦͍̏ū͖̼̽ ̡͖̃̚b͓̩̀̈́u̧̖̍͘t̨̮͗͝

dude im YOU

ŷ̺͕̕ȇ̢̫͑a̯͇̔̇h͕̥͒̕ ͖̘̾͠f̡̭͗͐u̻̝̓̕c̻̣̋͘k̨͍͗̀ ̱̼͗̃i̙͈̓͋f͖͉̈́͐ ̢̰̃̇ị̡͆͠ ̼̻̾̒w̮̞̅̅o̦̓͊ͅũ̧̇͜l͓͚̎̉d̹̟̂̈ ̮̯̿̕h̜͍͋͊à͎͖́v̠͑̚ͅę̣͑͝ ̦̺͒͠l͖̹͋͝į̹̈̏s̨͈͊̊t̝̪͐̄e̹̟̍̋n̞̲̉̿ė̡͓͘d͖̲͠͠

wait would have

w͍͇̐͂ẹ̳̑͆l̦̍̽ͅl̹̻̿͂ ̨̻̓̈́ļ̱͛̓į̗̾͝l̲̪̓͛ ̲͖́͆d̹̑̏͜a̤͙̐̔v̪͚̄̊e̺̘͐̈ ͓̗̔̚i̟̦͆̑ḿ̦̭̚ ͖̳̎̚ẗ̮̫́̐h͚̝̃̽ẽ̛̼͍ ̯̗̑̑y̦̑́ͅo̞̮͛̒ụ̥̐̌ ̮͉͛̈́t̢͆͝ͅḫ̰̑͝a͚͓̓̇t̜̫́̚ ̩̞͌͒ẃ̫̱̐ö̱͚́͝ǔ̚͜ͅl̩̲̑̕d͙̠́̽a̗̲͗̿ ̤̞͑̅ḇ͍̓̀ȇ̖͎̅e͕̪͆͛n̺͂͆͜ ̠̣̃͂ả̪͈̓r̩͔̔̄ơ͕̳͆u̼̐̇͜n̢̆͐ͅḏ̙͛́ ̦̠̐͂ä̩́͘͜f͎̭̐͝t̡̗̀̂è̠̩̏r̙͙̽̉ ͙̳͂̒w̭͇̅̔e̹̺̅̾ ͔̹́̕w̢͔̃͠o͇̜̿̈ṅ͍̯͘ ̗̦̀̏W̦̝̉͆I̮̥̅͛T̻̔̊͜Ḣ̛̠͕O͕̖͛͝U͔͛̌͜T͓̳͗̓ ̛̬̯͗t̹͇̂̃ř̤͖̑y̦͉̍͌ì̱̙̓n̛̘̞̾g̡̹͋̾ ̮̙̀̇ṭ̹̅̕ǫ͇̏͝ ̘̤̽͋l̥͓̃̋ǒ̘̟̄o̠̙̎̈́k̜̺̽͝ ̰̜̈́͝t̮̯̋͝ḩ̤́͆ṟ̜̌̓o͇̫̐̈́ú̝̘̊g̼͕̈́̇h͙̹́͘ ̹̣̈́͝r̲̟̿͠ĕ̠̮͘a̩̼̓̎ḽ̩̈́̐î͍̩̓t͖̞͆̈́y̻͖͌̉

...

so now...

f͚̤̾̇ȗ͎̪͌c̟̋͆͜k̬̣͐̾ ͈̺̀̀i͉̮̅͑f̛̞͕̀ ͈̤̈̈́i̭̩̋̚ ͖́͐͜ķ̮͐̅ǹ͕̯̚o͈̗͌̒w̬̞͆̓ ̡̳̉̐b̢͍̐͠ụ͖̍͝ẗ̖͓́͠

y̠̞͛̈o͍̘̅̐u̢̥͘̕ḻ̛̻̓l̺̰̽̅ ̯͔̉́b͇͇̾̾e̼̝͒̅ ̛̭͖͠l̦͕͒̒ǔ͖͂͜c͈̺̑̏k̨̡̊̕y̖̱̾̊ ͓̔̚ͅi̪̹͒̀f͈͉̃̇ ̠͓̐͐s̰̩̹̖̄̂̕͘p̡̛̦͇̣͒̎͌a̛͓̘͇̪͑̊̈t͖̦̦̱̋͊̈́́i̡̗̹̲̎͛̍̀ơ̙̰̹͍̿̀̓-̦͍̙̘͋͒̎̾ẗ̻̘̳͍́̈́̌̇ę̢̝̬̀̃̎̈m̡̜͂͛̊̀ͅͅp͚̝͈̤̐̏̌̓o͎͚̮͍͐̀͊̚r̥̱̬̰̊̑̅̈ą̨̯̊͑̕͝ͅl̪̺͉̀̓̾͜͠ r̯͇̓͐ë̩́̅͜ȁ̤̩͝l̦͈̿̅ĭ̢͖̚t̹̝́̇y̨͍̿̃ ̡̗́̑s͇̯̓͝t̬̩̾͠a̩̦͂̕y̪̪̐̋s̡̲̅̚ ̩̺̔̃i̧̗̿̚n͈̼͌̍t͚̐͒͜a̡̟͊͘c͚͚̈́̉ṫ̝̣̄ ̹̭̈̈́ḽ̞̀̀ö̝̤̿ň͖͝ͅǵ̯̜̑ ͎̟̀̎e̳͕̅̃n̘͆̚ͅo̖͚͌̕ụ̜͋̓g̺͈̎͠h̡̬̑͛ ̞̩͗̉f̟̳͊̈o̥͎͆͂r̛̞̙̽ ̢͓̊̕y̦̘̅̎o̟͔͗̈́u̜͂̏͜ ̖̩͛͂ṭ͈͝͠ŏ̭͙̈́ ̞̳̿̂f̲̞͐͛i̩͆̈́͜ṇ͓̏̾ḑ͖̃̒ ̣͙̽̇ő̱̼́u̥͕̓͝t̬͔͗̅

um

fuck

 

T̡̺̦̼̠̺̳͒̃́̈́͌̏̽ḩ̨̧͙̱̀̃̂̑̈́̎͝ͅͅa̧̝͔͉̩̭͔͒̇̏̉̕͝͝t̢̟̘̞̯̬̃̅̅͂̄̉̍ͅ ̨̰͖̦̩̯̭̾̋̉̔̓̄͠i̢͇̣͎͍̦̻̓͊͗̒͗̓́s̢͈̲̙̝̫͛̊̇̋́̇͘ͅ ̡͉̮̞̟̭̱̓̈́͋̆̒͘͝a̢̡̞͕͉̝̋̀͊͗́̆͘͜ ̧͉̱̖͈̹̘̆̇̉̍͒̍̚f̖̻̠͓̯̤̥̌́̅̂́̅͝á̢̨̙̮̫̜̺̓̐́̌̍̄į̫̦̹̗̞̟͑̅͐͋̑̿̚r̨̛̳͈̱̝̫̳̎͐͑̏͑̑l̡̨̳̰̺̤̝̃̊͆̍̈́̈́͆ȳ̞̞͔̬̫̯͛͗̀̽͌͠ͅ ̬̝̳̻̗̭̀͆̀̉̀̌̓͜ẫ̡͉̬͈͖̬̇̓͆͌͘ͅc̞̭̩̳̝̙̃͂͛͂̍͊͂͜c̠̭͙͖̠͂̉̈́̾͛̊̓͜ͅu̲̥̬̜̲̘̽̀͂̂̈̿͜͝r̹̻̣̩̫̠͕̔́̿̔͑̀̋ą̨̫̤͍̘̈̀̒̒̍̓̚͜t̮̺͍͙͍̩̤͋̓̈̇̈̿͝ẻ̱̥͙̪̲̻͙̐́̉͆͌̕ ̡̨̧̨͙̼̥̈́̓̉̑͐̓̉a̢̢̠̠̩̠͈͂͌̽̐͌̓͝s̼̫̖̭̫̻̳̊̄̇̂͒̀̚s̜̪̱͕̞̙̜͆̌͛͒̅̊͝e͇͙͖̖̬̰̣̎̀̑̓̈́͋̑ṡ̢̢͎͍̻̗̦̿́̒͒̕͠s̞̻̗͕͉̪̜̀́̓̐͑̿̔m̺͉̤̜̭̞͇̒̏̌̇͗̂̐ȩ̤̞̩͙̭̏̍̀̒̌͊̎ͅn̛̰͚̮̞̻̼͌̈́̈̈͛̈́ͅț̛̤͇̣̻̥̭͂̓͂̾̏̕,͉̭̹̖̖̯̮̊̔͑̎̋̒͘ ̹̯͈͖͙̖͊͂͛̿̋͝͝ͅḐ̧̪͕̠̞̠̔̍̽̀̊́̆a̧̪̱̗̝̝͚̽̉́̈́̏̒͝v͈͖͍̞͎͉̰̍́͐̏͗̚͘e̢̨͚̖̩̬̝̋́̈̏͗͂͝.̨̢̲͈̬̟͖̿̃̔̓́͊͝

 

Ñ̢̢͙̖̰͚̤̅̒̌̒̑̕ơ̧̡͙͎̰͙̪̊̏̓͗́̍w̧̧̛̰̟̺̮̳̓̏̈̏̈́͘ ͖̣͚̦̩̲͚̌̓̒̃̃̉͂w̛̰̯̬̮̺̻̖̐̄̋̎͒̀ḩ͍̗̞̞̤̤̔̀̋͂̈́͝͝ǎ̮͓̹̬̜̞̊́͑̿͑̀͜t̹͖̞̟̟̗̦͛̒̋͊̏͗̆ ̢͇̙͈͙͇͔́̐̆́͛̿̕ḯ̢̮̯͇̰͓̙̓͆̈́̿́͠ș̡̞͍̭̪̔̒̈́̅̽̌̽͜ ̧̛̪̻̪̞̰̫́̍̔̅́̂y̢̜̫̖̫͈̿̒̋͒̇͛͋͜õ̞̼͈̞̖̻̖̀̋̌̀͌̚u͎̫͕̜͕͂͑́͂̽̒̚͜͜r̫̘̹̯͚̼̈́͆̐͗̐͛͂ͅ ͉̫͍̗͍̪̼̓̈͗̿̓̆͒p͉̝̥̺̺̠̾͊͆͑̍̐͘ͅĺ̗̤͓͈̤̼͐̉̐̃͘̕͜ą̛̛̤̰̻̯͍͈̽͛̀͒̚ǹ̛̺̲̺̫͔̣̺̀̍͝͝͝?͉̙͙̥̩͚͖͌̒̏̌͂̈́͝

 

??

_You've been walking for a ~~few moments~~ ~~dozen ages~~ while now. Through the empty oceans of blood, through the oil-lapped beaches, through the rain-rippled rivulets of light, through the switchbacks and ravines that map themselves. Through the death Earth and dead Alternia, through the sands and past the horses over and over._

_The bubbles have been stalking you for a while now. Maybe since the start, but somehow you don't think so. This is the closest they've gotten, spinning gently just out of reach above your head. Earlier they were hovering at the edge of perception, jumping behind pillars when you looked and only peeking their crowns over rubble half-walls when they thought you weren't paying attention._

_When you next crest a hill, the distorted Statue of Liberty below you again, there's one just to your left, right at your periphery of vision._

_You poke it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the zalgo text is meant to be hard to read. I'll put a transcript in post-notes if anyone requests it. TAKE THE CHALLENGE, READ THROUGH THE SQUIGGLY LINES.


End file.
